


A Dream By Any Other Name Is Madness

by Bittersweet



Series: 30 Days of One Shots [30]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Knitting, Pep talks, Sappy Platitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittersweet/pseuds/Bittersweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though he tries not to show it the pressure of the upcoming NHL season is worrying McDavid. In a dream, some of hockey's best give him a pep talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream By Any Other Name Is Madness

He’d been having trouble sleeping, the draft being over not doing anything to lessen the pressure of what everyone was expecting him to do, so he took an extra long run to try and wear himself out. The muscles in his legs were starting to burn by the time he made it home and he took a quick shower before falling into bed and pulling his blankets over his head.

 

He was standing in the middle of his grandmother’s living room, with the familiar chintz covered chairs and flowered wall paper. It had always been his favourite room in her house, light and airy. Welcoming. He walked over to the door of the solarium.

“Are you just going to stand there?” an annoyed voice asked. “You’re blocking the light.”

He jumped and turned back around. The living room had been empty now there were five hockey players sitting there like they belonged.

“Seriously McDavid,” Toews said again. “Get out of the light.”

“Um, sorry.” He moved away from the door.

“Don’t worry about Tazer,” Tavares said grinning. “He’s just mad because he keeps dropping his stitches.”

“It’s the fucking crossovers,” Toews said glaring at the mangled knitting he was holding. He started pulling it off the needles.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Stamkos invited.

Connor edged over to the sofa where Stamkos was sitting and joined him.

“All right,” Ovechkin said. “Now that we’re all here let’s continue our patterns.”

“So McSaviour huh,” Crosby said. “No pressure there.”

“It’s…I’m not saying it’s not a little overwhelming but it’s not like I haven’t been preparing for this for a long time. You, all of you, have kind of been through the same thing. It’s doable right? I’m not going to—” He stopped short and looked down at the knitting needles he was holding, strangely enough there were several rows of neat stitches on them. He took a deep breath and asked the questions that had been haunting him. “What if I can’t handle the NHL? What if I let my team and all these people who expect so much from me down? What if I fail?”

Ovechkin snorted. “Don’t be stupid. You are very good.” He smirked. “Not as good as me but almost.”

Crosby threw a ball of yarn at Ovechkin. “I think what Ovi is trying to say is that, at some point in your career, you will feel like you’ve failed. That you’ve let everyone around you down. We’ve all been there and so long as you can put those moments behind you and keep playing you’ll find out that nothings as bad as it seems.”

“And don’t take yourself too seriously,” Toews chimed in. “They’ll give you a nickname that you’ll never live down.”

Connor smiled as everyone laughed. “Thank you,” he said. “I…this has helped.” He felt a calmer than he had for the past week.

“Just go out there and enjoy the game,” Tavares said. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

“I will,” Connor said standing up. “Thank you again guys.” He walked out of his grandmother’s house.

 

Connor woke up feeling too warm with all his blankets piled on top of him. He shoved some of them off and stared up at the dark ceiling, the details of the dream already turning hazy in his mind. Apparently his subconscious had a strange way of reminding him of every sappy platitude he had ever heard but it actually had helped. He grinned thinking about a bunch of hockey players sitting around knitting. He was sure he would remember that part for a while if nothing else stuck. He rolled over and closed his eyes. Within a few breaths he was asleep again.


End file.
